


Not Doctor Recommended

by uglyNicc



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Fever, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rhys is Handsome Jack's Personal Assistant, Sickfic, total self indulgent garbage i eat with a spoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 18:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyNicc/pseuds/uglyNicc
Summary: The verdict on whether this was a good idea or not was still out, Rhys thought weakly. His head ached trying to make sense of Jack’s “A good dicking will burn that fever right out” logic.That being said, Rhys had to admit this was an improvement over staring at the ceiling for hours on end, lamenting this bout of ill health that’d seen him miss two days of work so far.





	Not Doctor Recommended

**Author's Note:**

> Uncomfortable fever sex is uncomfortably hot (in my opinion, anyway), please only read if you're cool with that :'D

Rhys was burning up.  
  
His head throbbed. His joints ached, and the brush of linen under his naked body felt like sandpaper.

None of this had deterred Jack in the least.

He growled into Rhys’ neck, breath cool against the overheated skin. He bore down harder, throwing his full weight into the man beneath him, an involuntary whimper wrenched out of Rhys as he was pressed deeper into the mattress.

Only a trace sheen of sweat peppered Rhys’ forehead, his skin hot and dry from fever. He cried out hoarsely as Jack bit into his shoulder, blunt teeth digging into the tender flesh as the older man's hips pounded out an unforgiving rhythm.

Rhys dug his fingers feebly into the sheets, limbs listless and heavy at his sides as he was jostled against the bed.

When Jack surfaced, he pushed himself up on his elbows, arms and shoulders tense from exertion.

Rhys licked his chapped lips, eyes bleary as he tried to focus on Jack’s grinning face, bobbing above him while the CEO kept his merciless pace.

“Admit it, Rhysie,” Jack breathed, punctuating each word with a bruising thrust. “This is just what the doctor ordered.”

Rhys teetered on the precipice between discomfort and arousal, every touch a confused blend of agony and rapture. The slide and pull of Jack’s cock within him, a slick trickle of lube rolling down his skin, the mark forming on his shoulder; all these familiar sensations were magnified in the haze of fever to dizzying, almost unbearable heights.

The verdict on whether this was a good idea or not was still out, Rhys thought dimly. His head ached trying to make any sense of Jack’s “A good dicking will burn that fever right out” logic. That being said, Rhys had to admit this was an improvement over staring at the ceiling for hours on end, lamenting this bout of ill health that’d seen him miss two days of work so far.

Evidently taking the silence for agreement, Jack pressed on, tongue swiping over Rhys’ dry lips teasingly. The older man lifted himself up to sit back on his haunches, causing a chill to run though Rhys as the warmth of Jack’s body left him.

Jack hiked Rhys’ legs up to rest against his broad chest and shoulders, wrapping thick arms around the long limbs to hold them in place. Rhys didn't protest, but the shift in angle and depth of Jack’s thrusts made his head spin, his teeth chattering in between weak moans.

“Goddamnit, kiddo,” Jack grunted, the smug look fading from his face. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he hissed, eyes dark as they roved hungrily over the shivering body beneath him. “Looking this good in your sorry state.”

Rhys wilted under Jack’s gaze, a burning thrill blooming deep in his chest as the CEO continued, voice low, almost threatening. “You have any idea how hot you are? Inside, I mean?” Rhys cried out again as Jack bit into the taught flesh of his calf to drive his point home. “Like you’re trying to burn me to nothing,” he growled, mouthing the words against the angry indents left by his teeth.

Tortured by opposing sensations, Rhys thought he was going to die. His entire body hurt and he was weak from this unrelenting cold, but at the same time he was desperate for more of the pleasure that flowed in waves, building and rolling within him.

Without warning, Jack dropped one of his’ legs, large hand wrapping around Rhys' neglected cock, tugging it roughly, out of time with the movement of his hips.

Rhys hadn’t realized he was crying until he felt tears leak from the corners of his eyes, his body struggling to process everything it was experiencing all at once. It was too much, his mind and body screamed, he wanted more, but it was too much. He was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to —

Rhys came in a shuddering, breathless gasp, come dropping against his skin as Jack milked him for every drop. For one blinding moment there was nothing but gratifying warmth, his body weightless and sated.

The sound of Jack’s panting breaths brought him back, filling his ears as the crescendo waned. He squirmed weakly, the aches and pains returning as the afterglow faded and the fever reestablished its hold on him. One leg still over Jack’s shoulder, he was trapped as the other man chased his own climax, hips digging into his skin with every powerful forward motion.

Rhys swallowed dryly, the joints in his robotic fingers creaking as he gripped the sheets. “Jack,” he begged, voice rough like gravel in his throat, his eyes unfocused and pleading.

Teeth grit, hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands, Jack’s hold went vicelike around Rhys’ leg as he came, groaning as he rode out his finish.

A pleased hum rose up from Jack's chest as he caught his breath. “Hell, pumpkin,” he scoffed, withdrawing his softening cock, letting Rhys leg drop back to the bed carelessly. “Maybe you should get sick more often.”

Rhys mumbled unintelligibly, shivering as he tried without success to reach the blankets that had fallen to the floor. Jack followed Rhys' movements. Sliding off the bed, he scooped up the knot of fabric before tossing it unceremoniously at the younger man.

As Rhys rolled himself into a tight ball, Jack efficiently located and pulled on his discarded clothes. Smoothing out the wrinkles and his disheveled hair, the CEO jerked his head toward the bedside table. “Soup’s probably cold by now,” he said accusingly, as if it was Rhys’ fault.

“And don’t get any cute ideas,” he barked, adjusting his belt and flicking a piece of fuzz off his vest. He cast a warning look down at Rhys. “I wouldn’t have come down here if I had anyone half decent to cover your desk.”

Rhys yawned in answer. He was still a mess of aches and pains, but had to admit he felt a smidgen better, Jack’s flippant remarks not withstanding. At least he felt ready to sleep off the remainder of this cold.

Giving Rhys a last casual once over, Jack tuned on his heel and strode purposefully toward the door. Rhys cleared his throat and called after him.

“Thanks, Jack,” he croaked, wincing at the sickly sound of his own voice.

Jack gave the briefest pause at the door before flinging it open. “Get well soon. Or I’ll airlock that hot lil’ ass of yours,” he called before slipping out.

Rhys' eyes darted from the door to the food Jack had brought him, a faint smile pulling at his lips. He made a silent plan to have a hot bath and re-heat the soup, after resting for just ten more minutes.


End file.
